


Different Skies

by apolesen



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Moira is to marry into an old Scottish family, a part of her past which she has forgotten catches up with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Skies

**Author's Note:**

> An attempt to reconcile the comic canon about Moira and the FC version. Joe McTaggert is Moira's rather vile husband in the comics.

When Moira had gone off to college, her father had told her that even if she was going away, they were always under the same sky. She had hugged him a little tighter, wishing that he was not so reluctant to let her go.

Her father was long dead now, but this was a day when she had wanted him there. There were so many who were missing. Perhaps it was the memory of his words that made her look up at the grim Scottish sky. Sensing the anticipation of the rest of the party, she asked:

‘Would you give me a moment?’ The priest and the maid-of-honour shared a look.

‘There’s plenty of time, my dear,’ the old man said kindly. She understood his implicit meaning; _walk off those cold feet_. With a nod, she set off, picking her way carefully between the graves, the train of her gown hiked up to keep it from getting wet. She was grateful to the priest, who had understood her need of solitude before the ceremony, but the problem was not cold feet. Not the normal way, at least. She had a hundred reasons to love Joe, and she cherished every one of them. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He had a sense of humour. He drove a motor-cycle. He spoke with a Scottish accent. But most of all, he had offered her a way out.

When they first met, she had lost herself, along with the missing weeks of her life. She was stuck with secretary duties she hated, living in a sparse bedsitter apartment, without knowing if the people she had thought about as her friends were dead or alive. Joe had taken away the need for all that. Now here she was in Scotland, minutes away from marrying him. It had been a transition into a different world. It would not be easy, she knew, but from today onwards, she would stop being Joe’s American broad and be his lawfully wedded wife. She had come to hate the bits of her which marked her out, enough to make her pick up a Scottish accent. Joe said she did not have to speak in it, but it was clear that he liked it. Now when she would not have to worry about money (Joe’s family had plenty of that) she could go back to university. He had not been convinced at first, but when she explained that she wanted to do research, once she was qualified for it, he seemed to change his mind. She had not told him what she wanted to study, or her reasons. But she had her daydreams of beating Charles Xavier at his own game. They were almost as strong as her love for Joe.

Suddenly angry, she gathered up her skirts and kicked at a loose stone on the path. It skittered over the stone slabs and landed in the grass. Feeling a little better, she stopped to make sure that her shoe had not been stained. Her entire outfit was the kind she would never have considered putting on two years ago. She had managed never to refer to it as “the marshmallow”, but it was what she thought the huge skirt felt like. It was certainly not the most modern design, but Joe’s family were not the most modern family. Quite the contrary, as the heavy necklace, given to her by her soon-to-be mother-in-law, showed. It had belonged to the women of the family for five, which to her American ears sounded unimaginably old. She loved that with Scotland - there was a sense of continuity, as if there was something greater than what was here and now. It was in the stones and in the moors and in the cold breeze - something about the land had formed its people, making them steadfast and grim and poetic.

There had been an old place - a man with a beautiful accent - something greater, not past but future. She stopped and tried to seize the memory. It slipped away, and she sighed. It was decided, then. She would marry Joe, and become part of his world. What else could she possibly want?

But her footsteps as she started rounding the church were slow. She was still deep in thought, so much that she did not notice that she was not alone.

_Hello, Moira._

Startled, she looked up. Her heart was racing - there had been a voice in her head - it could only be... She looked around wildly, trying to find him.

‘Moira.’ She turned and looked down the path leading up to the southern entrance of the church. Transfixed, she stared at him, unable to walk away or move closer.

Charles Xavier no longer looked like a petulant school-boy. He had started going grey and he had lost the softness in his face, but his eyes were as unnaturally blue, his mouth as pretty as it had been. As he looked at her, she thought she saw sorrow in his eyes. But all these details seemed to fade at the one big difference since she saw him last.

Charles smiled at her and said:

‘You look beautiful, Moira.’ She stared at him and the wheelchair he was in. His legs were covered with a blanket, his hands clasped in his lap. ‘You’ve cut your hair - it suits you.’ Moira swallowed.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked. Charles looked momentarily amused at the sound of her conscious accent, but it disappeared soon. His reply was hesitant.

‘I... had an accident.’

‘Was I there for that bit?’ His jaw tensed at her sharp tone.

‘Moira, I want you to know how sorry I am,’ he said earnestly. ‘What I did... I didn’t do it lightly.’ She looked away.

‘I’m busy today,’ she said and gathered up her skirts. ‘I’m getting married - I don’t have time for catch-ups.’ She was just about to turn (or make herself), but Charles unclasped his hands and wheeled himself closer.

‘Moira, please wait,’ he said. She hesitated and let the grip of her skirts fall, defeated. ‘I came to attend your wedding. But I wanted to talk to you first. A few minutes more won’t hurt.’ She sighed.

‘You took away my memories.’

‘I had to,’ he answered.

‘How can I know that?’ she exclaimed. ‘I have no way of knowing what you did or what I did during that time. Do you have any idea how paranoid it makes me?’ His gaze was compassionate as he assured her:

‘You acted admirably.’ She wondered who had not. Reminded of the mutant team, she looked up, half-expecting the rest of them to be somewhere there - the geeky-looking boy genius, the loud redhead, the brooding juvenile delinquent, the head-strong sister, the reliable cab-driver, the smart-mouthed dancer, the mysterious metal-bender.

‘Where’s Erik?’ she asked. A shadow passed over Charles’ changed face.

‘Gone,’ he simply said, his tone showing that he did not want to discuss it. ‘How have you been?’ Moira shrugged, not knowing what to say. She had spent much of the time imagining this moment. Most often, she had imagined herself slapping him - he deserved it. Now she thought it was no longer an option. The confrontation would have to stay verbal.

‘Tell me what happened,’ she said. Charles simply shook his head. ‘It’s just...’ She broke off. He must know what she wondered, she thought. He could not have missed what she felt...

‘I didn’t.’ His answer felt sudden in the silence, and for a moment, she had forgotten that he read minds. When she looked back at him, she saw his thoughts written across his face, and felt them mirrored in her. Had it all gone differently, it might have been him she was marrying today, not Joe. Charles looked like he was fighting some inner battle with himself. He swallowed to steady himself. ‘I knew.’

‘Was that among the things you took away too?’ Moira asked.

‘It never got very far,’ he admitted. His calm suddenly burst, and with a few swift turns of the wheels, he had come close enough to grab her wrist. ‘Moira, don’t marry this man,’ he told her, voice desperate. She tried to pull away half-heartedly. Part of her reeled at his insolence - another was overjoyed. This was the closest a man had ever come to fight for her.

‘And marry you instead, you mean?’ she snapped. It was obvious that the reply had hit home, because momentarily, he looked very hurt. She thought of clarifying that it was not because of the wheelchair, and whatever had put him in it, but the memories he had robbed her of, but she did not feel like sparing this man. She could not deny that she had been in love with him, but now she wanted to hate him. It would be easier.

‘You don’t know him,’ Charles explained, his voice going thin. ‘His mind is dark and terrible. He’ll hurt you, worse than you can imagine...’

‘You’ve no right to tell me that, after what you did,’ she shouted and now she did pull herself loose. Suddenly Charles had gone very pale.

‘I did it to protect us both,’ he said quietly. ‘What he might do to you... it is not comparable.’

‘How can you say something like that?’ she asked, balking at his claim. ‘In my world, we trust people. We don’t read their minds to try to tell what they think, and we don’t erase their memories when things get complicated. Why not just face your mistakes...’ She broke off, realising that that was just what he was doing. He wanted reconciliation, not confrontation. But it was too late. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said instead, but her voice sounded weak. Suddenly she was not able to look at him - what if he were right about Joe? But he could not be - he must not be. And even if he was, their paths had diverged. They no longer shared the same world - they lived under different skies. To quench her guilt, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. His hand closed around her shoulder, keeping her there.

‘What if I gave them back to you?’ he asked. She drew back and shook her head.

‘I don’t want them,’ she said. ‘It’s probably better this way. Goodbye, Charles.’

She turned, gathered her skirts and walked away from him and his world of mutants and manipulation and fierce love, as she prayed that his truths did not extend into the world of ordinary humans.


End file.
